Lead kindly light, lead thou me on...

When I received my first interview call, I was  a little nervous.  For having spent much of my scholastic years in an alternative system of education, I had never even sat for a test or exam, let alone an interview. So, there I was, fresh out of college, new to the metropolis, commuting in a public bus to the other end of the city. 

Even though the ad had read, "artists needed for a book-cover design by Gandhi publishers", I had applied. I did not have any professional qualifications, either in graphic designing, or in Fine Arts. So, armed with nothing but a graduate certificate, a makeshift portfolio to showcase myself as an art hobbyist, I strode into the office of the Gandhi Publishers, smiling my cute Binaca smile.

Like many youngsters from my generation, especially those graduating from my alma mater, I had no or little respect for Gandhiji. It was because of his short-sightedness that the partition took place, we believed. We blamed him for placing his moral values on a higher echelon than the Life's spiritual destiny. Hadn't the message of Gita taught us to surmount our moral and ethical dilemmas in order to fulfill our higher spiritual goal?

Little did I know that the person who was going to interview me would be none other than Anand Hingorani, personal secretary to Gandhi ji for a few years, who  went on to edit a weekly magazine called 'Harijan'. Later, with Gandhiji's permission, he authored an encyclopaedic set of 24 volumes, now called, 'Gandhi for the 21st Century'. The volumes are divided by topics, dealing with subjects as varied as religion, education, role of women in the society, importance of hygiene, thought control and meditation.

The office, as it turned out, was the living room of the family's three bedroom apartment in South Delhi. Here Hingorani lived with his son, daughter-in-law, and two grandchildren.  Even though the apartment was rather humble, and simply furnished, the presence of the 83-year-old man with a ready smile, was enough to make up for the overall lack luster of the place. Clad in immaculate white, a picture of perfect health, Anand Hingorani exuded peace, and familial warmth.

"What does 'to interview' mean?" He asked me in his impeccable English.

"It means you view me, and I view you...you assess me, and I assess you." 

That was it. He was so pleased with my answer, I got the job.

Of course, I never got to design the cover of the book, for I lacked professional training, as well as experience. But, out of good will, he asked me to illustrate some of Gandhiji's quotes in a greeting card format. 

"Even though I have absolutely no respect for Gandhi, I am going to do this assignment for you, purely as a job," I told the old gentleman, in my rash, hot-headed manner.

"Thank you", he uttered with utmost humility.

Over the next few years, I freelanced for Hingorani ji. He always addressed me as 'beti', meaning, 'daughter'.  When I got a job in an advertising agency, he sent me a letter of congratulations, and wondered if I would still find time to freelance for him. 

He sent me my last assignment: "Do you know the poem,

'Lead kindly light, 

Lead thou me on...'  by John H. Newman? It used to be Gandhiji's favourite. Could you calligraph and illustrate it for me?"

It turned out to be my last assignment for Hingorani ji. 

To me, our little rencontre, however brief or insignificant it might have been, still represents that moment in time where the infinite tolerance and wisdom of one could overlook the arrogance of the other, and eventually succeed in creating a rapport which was founded on mutual respect. 

In this day and age, when "my way or the highway" seems to be the dernier cri of a great majority of the populace, Anand Hingorani's  grace and patience should serve as a beacon of inspiration to everyone. 

`E-Challenges’ of the Travel Age

Travel agencies are slowly becoming a thing of the past, as are the long queues of visa applicants at the consulates/embassies. In this `e' age, we do e-booking, get e-tickets and acquire e-visas. It all seems so easy and efficient. So, when our older son, coming to visit us for Christmas from the U.S., had to fill a short form as part of the process to apply for an e-visa, interestingly, one of the questions was about the applicant's religion. Many religions were listed, and just in case any one of them was overlooked, the thoughtful formulator of the questionnaire had also included `others' as an option. So, our son, who like many adults of the modern era, does not identify with any religion, and with neither atheism nor agnosticism listed as available alternatives, was naturally inclined to click  against `others'. But, surprise of all surprises, the e-visa would not go through until and unless he chose his preferred religion. Apparently, `others', even though included as an option, was not a real option.

A country, which gave birth to four different religions, Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism mainly, and tolerated all, should not accept Atheism, or some form of personal, individualised worship as an option sounds like a strange dichotomy. One of the foremost reasons which brings a horde of foreign tourists to India, is a search...a search for something deeper and truer which the capitalistic material pursuits of the west do not always offer. So, naturally for a lot of these disillusioned people, the very idea of religion seems irrelevant, and understandably so. Yet, when they are coerced to relate to one of the listed religions in order to complete the e-visa form for India, it could become an exasperating exercise.

Interestingly, another question was even more inquisitive, groping into your ancestral past, wanting you to reveal if any of your parents or grandparents had ever lived in the present day Pakistan. One has to wonder what kind of profiling is this, and what kind of conclusions are arrived at if the answer is in positive. What difference would it make in the status of the incumbent if his/her grandparents had once called Pakistan their home. Would it make the person less eligible? Would it require extensive background check to clear the papers since the applicant might suddenly don on the garb of a terrorist suspect? Under what category would such an information be stored, and how would it be useful? These are all very interesting questions whose answers I cannot even begin to surmise. For, after all, how can I, a common citizen with an average mind, can grasp the dynamics involved in the matters of national security? Yet, I can’t help but be reminded of dear Nazma, a Bangladeshi national, holidaying in the southern part of the country. “ I have visited U.S, thrice, been to England...But, believe me, getting a visa to come to India was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. I love it here, as I love Bollywood movies, and Hindi songs. However, I wish it wasn’t so difficult to come here. I lost count of the several visits I made to the Indian consulate in Dhaka. Every time they would send me back with more questions, with more paperwork to fill, with more proof of identity to attach...”

In the slot under reasons for the visit, one of the options was, `A short course in Yoga'. That too is a baffling option, and one can't help but wonder why it should deserve a separate listing. It is like having `A visit to the famous wineries' as a category in the e-visa for France, or `A visit to Winsor Palace' , for England. I guess we don't have to look too far back for the answers. Since our honourable Prime Minister had launched the concept of International Yoga Day, to debut his career, every tick marked against that option, would translate into adding another feather to his cap. And, by the end of five years, the Tourism Ministry would be proud to announce that because of the visionary leadership of the PM, the number of foreign tourists flocking the country to attend Yoga courses have increased dramatically, giving a boost to country's foreign currency reserves. Yes, as they say, every penny counts.

Anyway, I guess it is a good thing that the mere act of filling out an e-visa for a country, can give rise to so much thought, or nonsense, depends on how you look at it, or on which side of the fence you are. When one doesn't have to run to embassies/ consulates, fill up a huge bundle of papers in block letters, queue up for hours, one finds time to ponder...to produce something out of nothing...for isn't that the sheer magic of this digitalized e-age?  

Dark and Raven-ous...

“Mystical, majestic, delightful, spiteful, playful, brooding, mysterious, amusing, gregarious, talented, multi-faceted, multi-lingual, beguiling, charming, entertaining, schizophrenic, phantasmagorical...all in one and one in all...”

These are just a few adjectives attributed not to some polymath genius, but to the omniscient raven. Yes, the blackest of black, beautiful like the night, clever like the fox, and elusive like a dream itself, is the raven. Is it a wonder then that this much misunderstood, feared and idolized bird should have featured in many folklores and legends, along with being inspirational towards several known pieces of art and literature? While in the literary world, the best known example is a poem, called, `The Raven’ by Edgar Allan Poe, in the realm of fine arts, many eminent artists, such as Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Frida Kahlo, John James Audubon, Andrew Wyeth and Robert Bateman, to name a few, were challenged to capture its lightless light and its ambiguous personality in some of their masterpieces.

Interestingly, even the fate of the English Crown is intertwined with that of of six captive ravens, atop the Tower of London. Their presence is believed to protect the Crown and a superstition holds that “if the Tower of London ravens are lost or fly away, the Crown will fall, and Britain with it”. Thus they are looked after and fed by an official Ravenmaster. Local legend relates the custom of tending to the flock to the era of Charles the Second.

In the native American culture, raven is an important totem, and a lore describes it as a creature of metamorphosis, symbolising change/transformation. It is also called `the keeper of secrets’ and is regarded as a messenger between the physical world, and the spiritual domain. To the native people of the Pacific Northwest, raven is no less than what Prometheus was in the Greek mythology: a titan, who stole fire from the gods to give it to humans, so they too could aspire to be something greater than their dark selves, confined to an animal-like existence in the caves of the primeval earth. While Prometheus was damned to eternal suffering, the raven got charred in the process of bringing fire to man, which explains its colour.

My family developed a love for this uncanny, most amazing bird during our five year stay in the interior Alaska. In fact, it was during our first seven-month-long winter that we discovered the camaraderie of ravens. The haunting beauty of birch forest, buried deep in snow and winter silence, dotted with ravens, is not so black and white...Clad in parkas, we would saunter down the road on our daily constitutionals in the dead of winter, sometimes at forty below or colder. We would keep our eyes and ears open, for the least movement and the slightest sound in case we encountered these fabled birds. It did not take us long to realize that they too sought our companionship, as much as we sought theirs.

Capable of producing a whole gamut of most mesmerising sounds and indulging in outrageously clownish behaviour, ravens never ceased to surprise us. They spoke to the forest in the sweetest, rippling, gurgling voice. It was pure music...music of the river. I could visualise myself, standing by the waterways, skipping smooth pebbles over its limpid surface. When everything lay frozen still, there they were reminding us of flowing streams, and running rivers...of spring...and summer. There were times when on seeing us approach the tree where they were perched, they would start mimicking sounds, and hanging upside down, or just plain gossiping...merely to get our attention. And, we would be so thrilled to watch their performance, that we would forget how cold our feet felt inside the boots, or how the tip of our nose was zeroing in onto a sensation of numbness. We would stand and watch, enthralled, and amused, at times, even doubling up with laughter. And, when the tears from all that laughing would begin to sting the eyes, reluctantly, we will continue our course. Sometimes, the band of these wild performers, on watching us depart, would take off and perch itself on a tree further up, for Act 2, just in case we were still interested.

In Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, Alice asks the Mad Hatter, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

What a strange question! Of course, no answer is given, not by the Mad Hatter, nor by anyone else. The riddle remains a mystery, much like the raven itself.  

God bless our country...

"Mohammad Shaqib, a nineteen-year-old tailor from Haryana jailed for sharing a morphed photo of PM Modi...”
This was one of the news captions to hit the national dailies a while back, one of many which lead to the arrest of ordinary citizens over social media posts against politicians.

The article went on to elucidate Shaqib’s brief stint with education. Yes, he was a third-grade drop-out. Further on, it shed light on his parents who happened to be day laborers, with a growing family of four offsprings; Shaqib being one of them. The family was so dirt poor that it was coerced into taking a loan of Rs. 7,000 in order to fulfill their son’s wish of owning a touch-phone.

One can’t help but wonder how such details were relevant to the story, and why were they there at all. How, by knowing the full background of the offender, mitigates or enhances the crime, is beyond a rational mind’s sphere of comprehension. Yet, sometimes, the details are put there purposefully to influence the reader’s mind according to the demographics he or she might belong to.

Some Hindu rightists,  armed with their wanton disgust for the minorities, would slam the Musulmans and their godforsaken poverty coupled with their desire to procreate endlessly. "At this rate, by 2040, this will no longer be a Hindu country, but a conglomerate of Islamic caliphates” they would exclaim, reciting their usual mantra.

To the Musulman, the import attached to the story would sound disproportional to this very innocent
indulgence of a young, ignorant lad. His blood will boil over the injustice bailed out to the boy, and his heart will reach out to the Qoran for an answer.  Some radical Islamist's toxic speeches might suddenly sound logical, with a sense of being a victim as a minority group in a largely  Hindu country setting in.

With such an assault on our constitutional rights, the hooligan-style leftists would throng the streets, block the traffic, shout slogans, break a few public transport windows, and disrupt the daily life of common man, demanding one’s right to free speech. On the other hand, the educated leftists, who pride themselves in being the elitists, belonging to the upper echelon of society, would sit in the mahogany
furniture of their fine drawing rooms, clinking glasses with their like-minded comrades, and pine over the constant assault on the individual’s sovereignty and self-determination, along with dwindling secularism, dying multi-culturism and increasing intolerance in the country. Letters to the Editor,
highlighting Shaqib’s’s right to freedom of expression would be scribbled and dispatched with a gratuitous urgency.

An economist would look at the whole thing rather differently. Taking a debt for buying a touch-phone is to him an unproductive debt. It is no wonder, that the country runs on borrowed money, he would opine, citing figures and statistics. For according to the latest IMF figures, India has a total debt of 125 percent of its GDP, higher than several Asian economies.

And so on, and so forth…
But, whatever happened to Mohammad Shaqib in the meanwhile? Did a sabbatical in the jail make him respect the PM more? Did he turn more patriotic? Did he join the army? Or, did he go back to school to finish his primary education, and, in the process, learnt to answer the roll-
call with Jai Hind?
Jai Hind.

Where is the Chowkidar when you need him?

Knife at his throat, surrounded by a gang of drunken hooigans,  ordering him to place a call to his wife and bring the ransom money. Him pleading for his life, unable to comprehend how and why his own business partner would have plotted against him, and kidnapped him for ransom. 

This is not an opening scene of a Hollywood/Bollywood thriller. This is what an Engineer turned Entrepreneur L N Bansal actually went through three years ago, while visiting the site of his new project.  And yes, the kidnapper was none other than his business partner. 

 Looking back now, to Bansal,  the incident was akin to mob lynching, and has left behind a trail of unspeakable trauma. It is hardly a wonder that even after all these years,  there are  nights, when he  wakes up sweating, revisited by the ghost of that living nightmare. 

However, what Bansal fails to understand is the reason which propelled his partner to inflict such an heinous act of violence upon him.  For the project was in full-swing, the demand for the product was high, and he had been more than fair to  in his business dealings. Moreover,  the project was credited with introducing a source of income for the cotton farmers of the region in the off-season. All they had to do was to merely  sell their agri-waste to his unit so that it could be converted into briquettes to replace the need for fossil fuel. 

L N Bansal, an alumni of IIT Kanpur, an erstwhile vice chairman of Kirloskar, and more recently, a self-employed entrepreneur, based in Hyderabad, has been working in the field of alternative energy for more than a decade now. 

He, and his dedicated team of professionals at the Banyan Tree  have successfully carried out several environment related innovative projects, right from the planning stage to their execution. This one, on the border of Karnataka and AP, was just one such project, and promising in every way. Who would have thought that a simple official visit would turn into such a nerve-wracking ordeal? But, when it did, there was no one to turn to.  The officers at the police station where the incident took place not only said it didn't fall under their jurisdiction for the victim was not from the area, but also discouraged him to undertake such projects.  "Why do you want to save the environment?...Save yourself first," one of them remarked with a smirk. 

The police from his own area also refused to help, for the episode had occurred in a village outside their domain of authority. A couple of journalists, known personally to Bansal covered the story. One such article, penned in Hindi, was published in a weekly magazine called, 546,  meant only for the members of the parliament. Yet, even after the article was published, not one MLA, nor MP made a phone call to the victim, or extended any kind of help.

It stands to reason that the project, which held so much potential not only for the investors and the local people, but also for the future of alternative energy sources, just folded up. And worse still, no one could do anything.

In this day and age, where the average citizen is under constant surveillance, where sometimes a person can get penalized  merely for posting a comment on social media, the real offenders roam free, curling their big handlebar moustaches... machete in hand...

...just like in the movies.